


Snuggle Puppy

by medrengirl



Series: Inspired by Historical News Stories [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M, Misunderstandings, NPR, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4031764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medrengirl/pseuds/medrengirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek likes the soothing voices of NPR. He listens to a story about the 1920s, when “snuggle puppies” engaged in “petting parties.” The reporter on the radio says that these parties allowed teens and college students to engage in “erotic exploration” without devolving into orgies. </p><p>Stiles, on the other hand, thinks “snuggle puppy” is a stuffed animal line for pets with separation anxiety, or maybe the title of a kids’ book, and he thinks “petting party” is a great way to describe what happens when Derek comes over to hang out in his full wolf shift.</p><p>It takes a bit of time for them to get on the same page.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snuggle Puppy

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a tiny bit of fluff inspired by an NPR news story, and I originally intended for Stiles to be the one who knew about the historical origins of petting parties and snuggle puppies... and then Derek wrestled the story out of my hands with his feels.
> 
> The italicized bits at the beginning of each section come from an actual NPR article: [When Petting Parties Scandalized the Nation](http://www.npr.org/sections/npr-history-dept/2015/05/26/409126557/when-petting-parties-scandalized-the-nation)

1.

_To some social observers, petting parties of the 1920s were a natural, post-First World War outgrowth of a repressed society. To others, the out-in-the-open hug-and-kissfests were blinking neon signposts on the Road to Perdition._

Derek finds NPR soothing. The voices on the radio are calm, even when reporting monstrous events that rival or dwarf those that have invaded his own life. There are no supernatural explanations used for the events they talk about, only human beings and natural forces and societal problems that are sufficiently complex to not need the added complications of werewolves and druids and kanima and banshees and nemetons and nogitsunes. Maybe sometimes the supernatural lies behind the stories, but there are no hints of that in NPR’s reporting.

NPR reminds him that there is a world outside of Beacon Hills, one where people live lives that have hope as well as tragedy. His heart hurts in the best way when he listens to the reruns of _Car Talk_ , because they remind him of Saturday mornings with his father, who patiently showed him how to change the oil in his car when Tom and Ray made it sound like it was something he could learn. Gameshows like _Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me_ make him smile when they make fun of the absurdities of the news.

The serious stories ground him. This is a world where people are concerned about health care and the death penalty. They think Armageddon is coming because of gay marriage, or because the president is a black Democrat, and not because a mostly dead magic tree is drawing evil to his hometown. Even the horror stories about what happens elsewhere in the world prove strangely comforting, as he is reminded that there are people—humans, not just werewolves—who know what it means to be hunted just because of who they are, who are assumed to be violent not because of what they have done but simply how they look different.

His favorite stories, though, are the random historical bits that come up occasionally, which make him long for the history classes he never got to finish taking for his degree. He learns about the rock garden craze of the 1930s that the reporter suggests might be due for a comeback because of the California drought. He listens with interest to the description of Abraham Lincoln as a practical joker. He snickers at the description of 1920s “snugglepuppies” using “petting parties” as opportunities for “erotic exploration.” Occasionally, he thinks that Stiles’ essay on the entire history of male circumcision would fit right in. (Derek refuses to admit that he read the entire thing after snooping through Stiles’ papers when he glimpsed a red “WTF?” in Finstock’s handwriting at the top of one.)

 

2.

_One of the earliest mentions of the scandalous soirees was a Washington Times story from New Year's Eve 1915. "Did you ever hear of 'petting parties'?" the reporter asked. "That, they tell me, is the name applied in Baltimore to the haunters of cosy corners and 'twosing' in general."_

Derek’s first shift into a full wolf was violent. Evolving wasn’t easy. There was a reason everyone—Kate—had thought he was dead.

But his second shift, and third, and fourth. Those are a different story. Now, he does it for practice, somewhere safe, with someone to watch out for him and not someone he has to fight. With someone he can trust to touch him without making something hurt.

“Oh, wow,” Stiles whispers the first time Derek hops through his bedroom window in wolf form. “You are so fuzzy and fluffy. Are you going to shed everywhere now?” He runs his hands through Derek’s fur. “Dude, you’ve got an amazing undercoat. It’s so soft! But aren’t you hot?”

Derek feels weird as a full wolf, sometimes. The beta shift has always been natural to him, pretty much his entire life. The sideburns, the fangs, the eyebrow ridge—they all leave him at least mostly humanoid. He has some of the wolf instincts all the time, but suddenly they are taking on new meanings and forms, usually involving a lot more physical contact than he would be really comfortable with. In human or beta form, scenting means rubbing a hand over someone’s shoulder or neck, leaning in close enough for a sniff but without being obvious about it. In wolf form, he finds his nose in Stiles’ armpit, rubbing his whole body along Stiles’ chest as Stiles wraps his arms around him and scratches his fingers through Derek’s fur. Derek only barely manages to keep his nose out of Stiles’ groin. 

Other changes feel even more ridiculous. Especially breathing through his mouth—panting, if he is honest—with his tongue hanging out because he will overheat in the hot California weather otherwise. It feels right when he is doing it, but he can’t quite keep from feeling embarrassed when he changes back.

He’d asked Laura about it once, when she first achieved the full shift in high school. She had smiled. “It’s hard to explain. Some instincts cross over. Some are only with just one form—biology based, I guess. You’re always still _you_ , but our bodies aren’t separate from us, and we change with them. But I think changing forms lets me know which of my inhibitions are things I really think are important, and which ones aren’t.”

When Derek had been a kid, his mom, his grandfather, and one of his older cousins had the full shift. He remembered them herding him along with his siblings and younger cousins through the preserve, laughing and collapsing back at the house in a giant pile, kids and parents, humans and werewolves and full shifted wolves. That mix, those smells, are what his brain still remembers as family. As pack.

Stiles seems to get it, at least a little. He somehow manages to walk that line required to treat Derek as a human and as a wolf at the same time. He gets that Derek wants—no, _needs_ —more contact as a wolf, or that somehow some of his inhibitions disappear when he became one.

And, as a wolf, being with Stiles is easier. He’ll jump to Stiles’ roof, already in full wolf form, crawling through the open window, or scratching at it until Stiles opens it up. Stiles invariably lets a smile spread across his face when he sees him, and Derek curls up on Stiles’ bed while Stiles does homework or research, his back tucked up against Stiles’ thigh and hip, close enough that Stiles will occasionally reach over to rub Derek’s ears, causing his tail to thump contentedly.

 

3.

_Organizations of mothers and other concerned adults convened in Chicago in 1922 to determine who was responsible for "all the 'petting' or 'snuggle-pupping' that is going on," the Charlotte, N.C., News reported on March 12._

The conflict he felt between what he wanted as a wolf and what he wanted as a man—and the sometimes radically different inhibitions he felt as each—came to a head one day when he realized what Stiles was calling those times when he came through the window.

Stiles calls it a petting party. 

“Scotty, I gotta go, it’s nearly petting party time.”

“Uhh… What?” Scott’s voice over the phone sounds almost as confused as Derek feels.

“I told you Derek’s been coming over in full wolf form, right? He’s becoming my own personal snuggle-puppy.”

If Derek wasn’t already in wolf form, his ears would have been burning in embarrassment. Instead, his tail curls down and in, defensively, and he isn’t even fully aware of the whine that emerges from his throat. He isn’t even yet up on the roof, and suddenly he can’t bring himself to make the leap. He turns, and runs back the way he came, at an even faster clip.

He doesn’t see Stiles come to the window and watch him run away.

Derek avoids Stiles for the next week. He avoids the full shift, too, because he’s not entirely sure that it wouldn’t lower his inhibitions enough to go begging for the physical attention.

Derek doubts Stiles knows about 1920s petting parties. Stiles doesn’t listen to NPR. 

But the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that Derek can practically feel the desire building, even as a human.

He dreams of leaping into Stiles’ room the way he used to, still fully human, pushing him up against the door the way he did that very first time. But instead of aggressively pressing his face and arm into Stiles’ space, he’d ease his whole body in, slowly, head down, nose in the crook of Stiles’ neck. Arms coming up his sides. He imagines Stiles’ slow exhalation of breath, almost a shudder. He can’t quite figure out what Stiles would be saying, even though he suspects— _knows_ —Stiles wouldn’t shut up just because Derek was having a moment. 

And there’s something about the idea of a petting party—the safe space, no pressure, but erotic nonetheless—that fills him with an (absurd, he tells himself, and dangerous) longing. 

He worries that if Stiles actually calls him a snuggle-puppy to his face, he won’t be able to resist kissing him.

 

4.

_"Petting parties varied quite a lot," says Paula S. Fass, professor emerita of history at the University of California, Berkeley and author of_ The Damned and the Beautiful: American Youth in the 1920s. _"But certainly there were parties where young people did quite a lot of erotic exploration — kissing and fondling. These parties always stopped before intercourse. They were not orgies and they were not promiscuous — one set of partners only."_

Stiles is more perceptive than Derek likes to admit. Or he just knows Derek better than Derek would like to admit. After a week of avoidance, he doesn’t text Derek, or call him. He just shows up in his loft. Derek can hear him inside before he opens the door, and his stomach tightens. For a moment he contemplates running away the way he had the week before. 

But he doesn’t. He takes a deep breath—a mistake perhaps, now he can smell Stiles, too—opens the door, and prepares to do battle with himself.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” He tries to sound annoyed, but he’s not sure if it works. 

“Hey, look, Derek, I’m not entirely sure what I did, or said, but I’m really sorry and I didn’t mean to... “ Stiles voice trails off when he realizes that Derek is refusing to make eye contact. 

Stiles sighs, rubbing his hand furiously through his hair. “Okay, seriously, you suddenly stop showing up after spending more evenings with me than not for the last month. And not a word explaining why! I thought we were buddies, bonding over your fuzzy wolf form and just enjoying some werewolfy pack-like contact. What did I do? Because whatever I did, and I know it had to have been something I’ve done, because it’s ALWAYS something I’ve done, I didn’t mean to upset you and I miss--” Stiles breaks off abruptly. 

“What do you miss?” Derek asks quietly, still refusing to make eye contact, but face turned up towards the windows and not down towards the floor. 

Stiles is silent a moment. Then, quietly, “You.” 

“Why—” Derek chokes on his words. He thinks he meant to ask, _why did you call it a petting party?_ or _why did you tell Scott about it?_ but Stiles only hears the first word.

“Because… because you make me feel safe. Like I’m grounded. And because I don’t know what to do with myself when you’re not around.” 

That is not the answer Derek was expecting. He’s not sure he can even process it right now. “You called it a petting party,” he grits out.

Stiles squawks in surprise. “Oh my god, you heard that? Of course you heard that, I’m an idiot. Werewolf hearing doesn’t exactly ever have a chance of NOT hearing when I say stupid stuff.” Stiles pauses, clearly replaying in his mind what he said to Scott. “Oh, fuck, you heard me call you a snuggle-puppy, too, didn’t you. Is that why you started avoiding me? You know me, I can’t help it with the sarcastic nicknames, it’s my defense mechanism—I mean, I was calling you sourwolf for ages—”

“Stiles.” Derek feels torn in so many directions. One part of him wants to run in embarrassment. One part wants, wants desperately, to not have to say what he wants. One part of him wants to turn into a wolf, which would probably end worst feelings of embarrassment, but wouldn’t get him what he wants most. But what he wants most— “The problem wasn’t the nickname, not exactly. It just… it means something different to me.” 

 

5.

_"Girls like to be called snuggle-puppies," one school administrator told the reporter. "They grant the boys liberties. Encourage them to take them and if the young chaps do not, they are called 'sissies', 'poor boobs' or 'flat tire.' "_

Stiles is perplexed. Derek had dropped the bomb that “snuggle-puppy” had a specific meaning but had declined to let him know exactly what that meaning was before he bolted out of the loft. For a moment, Stiles contemplates following Derek, but he suspects he’ll have more success simply staying put.

Fortunately, he doesn’t need anything but his cell phone to do research these days. He can’t be sure that research will give him the answer, but he suspects the answer to this won’t be something entirely personal to Derek. If it was something Stiles couldn’t figure out, Derek wouldn’t have run, he would have buckled down and explained. 

Googling “snuggle puppy” brings up a bunch of possibilities. There is a children’s book called “Snuggle Puppy: A Love Song.” There’s a stuffed animal on Amazon that has a recorded heartbeat meant to help dogs with separation anxiety. Derek was probably too old to have a personal connection to a children’s book published in 2003, and the stuffed animal would mean that Stiles is the one with separation anxiety, not Derek, so that’s probably out, too.

He added “petting party” to the search terms, since that’s what Derek’s first question had been about. 

And then there’s an NPR article. Stiles knows how much Derek likes his NPR.

“Oh. My. God.” Stiles breathes as he reads.

When Derek comes back to his loft, he’s in full wolf form. 

“I don’t want to be a flat tire,” Stiles says, butterflies in his stomach, “but you’ve got to be human if we’re going to do this. You’re gorgeous this way, and I definitely want to snuggle with you more the way we have been, but if we’re going to move this out of the strictly platonic realm, I’m going to need you to be in a form where we can actually talk during. Because apparently communicating is something we struggle with enough already.”

Derek looks up at Stiles for a moment, and then heads to the bathroom, brushing close enough to Stiles as he goes that Stiles feels his heart lifting.

6.

_In Atlantic City, N.J., beach cops were instructed to throw ice water on seaside petting parties, the Wilmington, N.C., Morning Star observed on July 31, 1921. In Pittsburgh, 15 couples were fined for spooning, the Reading Times noted on Aug. 16, 1921._

Spooning is delightful. Stiles really likes being the big spoon. It means easier access for kissing and groping, which are delightful too. Stiles is even fine calling it petting. He finds it amusing that one sort of petting party has (mostly) replaced the other in his bedroom. 

“You know, snuggle-puppy, I’m sure if we do this in front of my dad, he could probably find a statute from the 1920s that would allow him to fine you for it.”

Derek no longer blushes when Stiles called him snuggle-puppy, only pulls his arms tight around his belly. “I’m slightly more worried about him trying to shoot me for it. You’re still underage.”

“I’m close enough to eighteen that he’d probably just go for dumping ice water on us. He knows we're snuggling, he just doesn’t want to see it."

"Just snuggling?"

"I'd plead the fifth if he asked."

 

Fin.


End file.
